C'est Le Weekend: The walrus

Yes, dear reader.

Those are my thighs.

Next year, they will hopefully be smaller, and I will hopefully be brave enough to lift myself off of my towel and actually approach the water.

Bare my behind to the sunbathers at my rear.

At the moment (my heaviest that I've ever been, even 9 months' pregnant with Son#3!!!), I'm a devout towel-sitter.

If one of the kids should get into trouble in the water, it would be every man for himself.

That's how ashamed of my body I feel at the moment.

I'm still waiting for the burqini to become all the rage.

All that flesh, pooh, cover it up, I say.

One thing about the beach though, is that not a single, perfect body can be found.

Here and there, a teenager walks by with a to-drool-for-figure.

But no real people with kids or jobs or over the age of 15.

And all of this, makes me wonder about my alleged perfectionism.

Perhaps my boss is right, perhaps I am a perfectionist after all.

And I'm starting to agree with him to a certain extent, because the fact that I'm not one of those uber-perfect teenagers with their tight-everything and perky boobs, makes me feel like an absolute and utter failure and loser.

Frighteningly so.

Holidays are fantastic for gaining new perspectives and energy for one's life.

My new perspectives are small;  survival-oriented for the moment.

But I have more energy than when we left 2 weeks' ago.

I have the energy for new plans.

And that's fantastic. 

This Friday is our last day in Cazo.
Tomorrow we go to Agde, until Tuesday.

We're off to Roquebrun this morning, then coming back to start packing up, perhaps the beach again this afternoon.

An ice cream in Saint-Chinian.

I love Saint-Chinian.

With all my heart.

The husband is singing Julio Iglesias while cooking breakfast.
He has a pained expression on his face.
Oh dear Lord.

.